Double the Heat

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PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / December 2009

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Double the heat / Lori Foster, Deirdre Martin, Elizabeth Bevarly, Christie Ridgway.—Berkley
Sensation trade pbk. ed.
p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-15171-6

1. Erotic stories, American. I. Foster, Lori, 1958- Hart and soul. II. Martin, Deirdre. Breaking the ice. III. Bevarly, Elizabeth. Double booked. IV. Ridgway, Christie. Original zin.

PS648.E7D67 2009
813’.01083538—dc22 2009032636

http://us.penguingroup.com

Hart and Soul

Lori Foster

One

Hart Winston tried to prepare himself, but with every breath his anxiety level ramped up until he felt sweat on the back of his neck.

What did she want? In his gut, he knew it had to be something important for her to be so persistent in seeking him out. Lisa Vogle wasn’t a woman who chased any man. For sure she wouldn’t chase him.

He had his suspicions about the message she had to give, and mixed emotions kept him tightly coiled with the possible consequences.

He wasn’t a coward, damn it! He would face up to his responsibilities as all the Winston men did.

Yet, he continued to sit in his car in the blistering parking lot in front of Lisa’s apartment building, trying in vain to sort through his feelings, not only about Lisa but also about the life ahead. To his twin, Dex, he had denied caring about Lisa. He’d even denied being attracted to her. He’d called her “plain” when that adjective could never be applied to a woman with her vitality, her intelligence, and her grace. No, she didn’t look like most of the women he dated. She didn’t act like them either.

And that, in part, was what unsettled him.

Enough. Turning off the car, Hart braced himself for what lay ahead and stepped onto the burning blacktop. Waves of suffocating heat wafted up to amplify his already churning emotions.

He’d make it work, he told himself. So Lisa wasn’t like most women he knew. In many ways, she was better.

It didn’t matter that he’d considered her a one-night stand, a moment of weakness.

He couldn’t lie to himself; he’d thought of her often even before she began tracking him down. He enjoyed her company. He’d really enjoyed sex with her.

It’d be fine.

Might as well get on with it.
Dexter expected a full report, as did his cousin Joe. Hell, if his suspicions were correct, the whole damn family would know his private business in no time at all.

Staring through mirrored sunglasses, hands on his hips, Hart surveyed Lisa’s building. From the parking lot he could see the side of the balcony where she liked to sit in the evening, drinking hot tea. Not a beer, never that. Not even a cola. She held those dainty teacups with all the grace of a queen.

He smiled at the image, caught himself, and scowled again.

Other than a light that shone from behind closed curtains, her place looked empty. Hell, it was only eight o’clock, but Lisa was the “early to bed, early to rise” sort. She was also a dentist, of all things. Conservative, uptight, and buttoned down, very proper—in a hundred different ways, their personalities and lifestyles would clash.

But he’d slept with her in a moment of lust-inspired insanity, a moment that had plagued his thoughts ever since. And now she’d tracked him down for a reason, so he had to address the repercussions.

Damn.

Before he could change his mind, Hart strode up the front walk and into the building. Air-conditioning chilled his skin as he bounded up the stairs and to her door, where an artificial summery wreath hung. It was homey, domestic—like Lisa.

Hart cursed under his breath and knocked.

He knew she had to be home, but she didn’t answer the door. Scowling, determined to get the uncomfortable confrontation over with, he knocked again, harder this time.

The door jerked open, but only as far as a chain allowed. Without showing herself, Lisa said, “Go away, Hart Winston, and stay away.”

Out of sheer instinct, Hart thought to poke his foot in the space before she could close the door.

She smashed his foot hard, and kept on smashing, hoping, no doubt, to encourage him to remove the obstacle.

He put his shoulder into the door. “You’re breaking my foot, woman.”

“Remove it if you don’t want to lose it.”

He grinned at the surprise sarcasm. She always did that to him, amusing him at the oddest moments, drawing him in . . . turning him on. Again, he shook off the unfamiliar feelings. “We need to talk.”

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